John Heywood (1497 – 1580)
English writer known for his plays, poems, and collection of proverbs.
When the iron is hot, strike.
Whan the sunne shinth make hay, whiche is to say,
Take time whan time comth, lest time steale away.
Who is wurs shod, than the shoemakers wyfe,
With shops full of shoes all hir lyfe?
True (quoth Ales) thinges doone can not be vndoone,
Be they done in due tyme, to late, or to soone,
But better late than neuer to repent this,
To late (quoth my aunt) this repentance showd is,
Whan the stéede is stolne shut the stable durre.
That muche is my bowe bent to shoote at these marks,
And kyll feare, when the sky falth we shall haue larks.
The more hast the lesse speede.
All a green willow, willow,
All a green willow is my garland.
So many heads so many wits.
There is no fyre without some smoke.
Yes yes (quoth she) for all those wyse woordis vttred,
I know on which syde my bread is buttred.
But there will no butter cleaue on my breade.
And on my bread any butter to be spreade.
Euery promise that thou therin dost vtter,
Is as sure as it were sealed with butter.
Than farewell riches, the fat is in the fire,
And neuer shall I to like riches aspire.
A woman hath nyne lyues like a cat.
Rome was not built in one daie (quoth he) and yet stood
Till it was finist, as some say, full faire.
The loss of wealth is loss of dirt,
As sages in all times assert;
The happy man's without a shirt.
Who hopeth in Gods helpe, his helpe can not starte:
Nothing is impossible to a willyng hart,
And will maie wyn my herte, herein to consent,
To take all thinges as it cometh, and be content.
Marke ye, how she hitteth me on the thombis (quoth hée)
And ye taunt me tyt ouer thumb (quoth shée)
Sens tyt for tat (quoth I) on euen hand is set.
Som thingis that prouoke young men to wed in haste,
Show after weddyng, that hast maketh waste.
... Better is to boow then breake.
It hurteth not the tounge to geue fayre wurdis.
The rough net is not the best catcher of Burdis.
Sense ye can nought wyn, if ye can not please,
Best is to suffre: For of sufferance comth ease.
She speaketh as she would créepe into your bosome.
And when the meale mouth hath woon the bottome
of your stomake, than will the pickthanke it tell
To your most enmies, you to bye and fell.
To tell tales out of schoole, that is hir great lust.
Looke what she knowth, blab it wist, out it must.